


Deliverance

by orphan_account



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Fake Marriage, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-23
Updated: 2019-12-31
Packaged: 2021-02-25 23:49:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,538
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21923947
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Deliverance sat atop a hill, nestled between the edge of the forest and the wide valley. It was safe, secure, and the place where Daryl took Beth to be his wife.
Relationships: Daryl Dixon/Beth Greene
Comments: 13
Kudos: 72





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> I finally broke down and posted this on here (as well as kept it on ff). I'm a noob and can't figure this site out sometimes. 
> 
> The first three or so chapters are complete and will be posted soon. Would love to know your thoughts. There's also a fic tag over at my tumblr: writingfornaught. Sometimes I ramble about this story there. Happy holidays to all!

Daryl was the first to outwardly acknowledge their predicament.

"We need to find a place for the winter." His voice, as always, was rough, like sandpaper.

Beth looked up from the small fire at her feet. She tightened her arms wrapped around her knees. As if to punctuate his words, a sharp gust of wind tore through her thin jacket and she shivered.

Autumn had descended faster than either of them anticipated. In the weeks since the fall of the prison, the air had turned from humid and sticky to crisp and blustery. Now more than ever, the leaves beneath their feet crunched with every step. The water they drank from trickling creeks was cold to the teeth and shot straight through to the stomach like ice. Winter was coming––and they'd be fools if they let themselves get caught by the approaching storm. They needed to find shelter, sooner rather than later.

"I don't know the first place to look," Beth admitted. She thought back to all the ground they'd covered since escaping the prison. She could count on one hand the number of realistic shelters they'd passed along the way. She could also count on one hand the number of times Daryl suggested they stay put. Moving on, it seemed, was the only way he knew how to survive.

In that thoughtful way he did, Daryl chewed his lower lip. The firelight cast an orange haze over his face, molded in its perpetual scowl. "We'll keep going," he said. "But we'll keep our eyes peeled for somethin' good. We still got time."

The silence between them stretched taut. Beth returned her focus to the fire and wondered why she couldn't bring herself to talk about the past. In all their weeks of trudging through the forest, not once had they spoken of the day it all went to hell or of the people they'd lost. Perhaps it was easier that way, but when the dark of night descended, she wanted nothing more than to commiserate with someone who might understand her pain.

She looked across the fire again, judging the moment. Daryl sharpened his knife against a rock. A dull grating noise filled the void where conversation could have been. The quiet was deafening; it rung loud in her ears.

She cleared her throat before speaking. "Your hair is gettin' too long. I can barely see your eyes."

The sharpening paused, and he tossed her an annoyed sort of glance. At once, Beth was thankful for the dark. He wouldn't be able to see the color rising on her face. She shifted, embarrassed but not discouraged. The sharpening resumed.

"You know, we've be out here for weeks and I still don't know where we're goin'."

"We're just... goin'." He spoke as if it were the most obvious explanation she'd never considered.

Rising from her spot, she tossed the remains of her dinner––fish tonight, a blessed reprieve from squirrel or snake––into the nearby brush. She swiped her hands across her pants, resisting the urge to roll her eyes skyward.

"Right," she mumbled. "We're just goin'. Goin' to hell in a handbasket."

"Hey!" His barely contained shout brought Beth to a standstill. She stared at him, sure her eyes were wide and startled. Her heart hammered against her ribcage. "You got any better ideas?"

She blinked. Hearing the frustration in his voice gave her pause. So often they spent their time in strained silence she'd almost forgotten he was a man, a man with emotions no matter how far he shoved them down.

She shook her head hard, feeling like a child scolded. "No, I don't. I'm sorry."

A beat passed before he grunted. He motioned with the tip of his knife for her to sit down again. She took that as a sign of an apology accepted. No harm, no foul. She sat down.

"If it makes you feel any better, we're gonna be near the border soon."

"The border?"

"Tennessee."

"We've traveled that far?"

"If my math's right, yeah." He shifted, his jacket tugging against the bark on the log behind him. "We've gotta cross the mountains but Tennessee is where we're goin'."

"What's in Tennessee?"

He shrugged. "I dunno. But I'm not interested in stayin' in Georgia. Are you?"

Beth thought on it a moment. She'd never been to Tennessee, never had any reason to go. Her family was in Georgia––both before and after the outbreak. Now...

She didn't know if she had any family left.

"What if they're still out there?" Her voice wavered as she spoke, and she kept her eyes glued to the flickering fire.

Daryl's brow tightened. "Who?"

Her eyes snapped to his. "Don't play stupid. Maggie, Glenn, Rick––they could've made it out too."

For the first time in their weeks of walking, he didn't steer the conversation away. He flicked a piece of wood into the fire. "Yeah, maybe."

A sudden burst of hope flared in Beth's chest. She scooted to her knees and leaned closer. The heat of the flames washed over her cheeks. "Well, we should go after them! If they made it out, we should go back and find them."

"Ain't no chance in hell I'm goin' back."

"But if Maggie's out there––"

He cut her off. "Even if they did make it out, they're probably headed the opposite direction. We can't go back to the prison. It's too dangerous."

"So we're just supposed to forget about them? Keep goin'?"

"That's about how I see it." At her glare, he sighed. "We're at least a hundred miles from the prison. I'm not wastin' our time by turnin' around."

"We wouldn't be wastin' our time. We'd be finding our friends."

"I said they might have made it out. There's no way of actually knowin' they did."

"Unless we went back!"

"Beth, we're not goin' back!" This time he did shout and the sound startled her. The use of her name made her blood run cold. She froze for what felt like the hundredth time in an evening. He meant business; she'd be dumb if she argued any further.

Well, no one in high-school had ever called her smart.

"You aren't my dad. You can't tell me what to do." Beth flopped to the ground, arms crossed over chest, pack under her head as a pillow. "I can go back if I want to."

"I ain't your daddy and I sure as hell ain't your husband." Following her lead, he stretched out along their patch of grass. He put his hands behind his head, unaffected by her arguments. "Go back if you want to but you'll be by yourself."

Beth's jaw worked back and forth. Tears stung the corners of her eyes. Rolling to her side, she turned her back to him. "I'd never marry anybody as mean as you, Daryl Dixon."


	2. 1

**Two months later**

Beth broke through the tree line first, eager for a glimpse of the open sky. Fog from the previous night's rain shower hung over the valley which expanded before her. In the pale morning light, she could see her breath when she exhaled. Dew soaked through the worn soles of her shoes. If she concentrated hard enough, she was home again on the farm, safe and secure and thoroughly sheltered from anything which might harm her.

A low gurgle broke her reverie. Before she could turn and investigate, she heard the telltale sound of an arrow slicing through the skull of a Walker. She whirled around and watched the creature crumple to the ground in a graceless heap. Thick blood oozed from the hole in the back of his head, pooling in the leaves on the ground.

Daryl lowered his crossbow. "Can't stand there with your head in the clouds, girl." He withdrew the arrow with a wet squelch. He returned it to his quiver after wiping the excess blood on his pant leg. "Just cause we ain't see a Walker for a few miles doesn't mean they aren't out there."

"I—" Beth stared at the dead man. She wondered what his name was. "I forgot for a minute."

"Can't afford to forget." He pushed the corpse to the side with his boot and shuffled to a nearby tree. He unzipped his jeans and Beth turned away.

The first rays of sunlight poked over a faraway mountain, and a flock of birds scattered in the sky. Beth scanned the valley. They'd have to cross in order to make it to the North Georgia Mountains. It had been a long time since they'd traveled so exposed. She'd almost forgotten what it felt like to walk without tree cover or fallen branches underfoot.

As her eyes roamed the valley, she caught sight of a trail of smoke curling in the air. She took a step forward, eyes narrowed. She followed the line of smoke from the sky to its point of origin.

"Daryl, what's that?" She extended a finger toward the smoke.

He sauntered over, zipping up his pants as he came. "What's what?"

"That, over there. That brown dot."

Daryl followed her pointed finger and narrowed his eyes. "Looks like a brown dot to me."

"There's smoke comin' from it." She looked sidelong at him, watched the way he peered into the valley. "There must be people there."

"Maybe." He pulled out a pack of cigarettes and stuffed an unlit one between his teeth.

"Shouldn't we go scout it out? Maybe we can stay there for the winter."

Daryl shifted on his feet. She saw the refusal poised on his lips, and she didn't blame him for it. For all she knew the brown dot was nothing more than a tree smoldering after being hit by a lightning strike. At best, the fire came from a small party of survivors, wandering just like herself. At worst, it was a figment of her imagination. Still, the thought of others gave her hope; she could see the hope—or the intrigue at least—in his eyes, too.

He took a drag of his cigarette and exhaled. "We'll go look," he said before dropping the unfinished butt beneath his heel. "But only look."

Beth fought to keep her features under control. Without another word, she slung her pack over her back and followed him into the valley. Surely he said yes only to humor her. It cost nothing for him to appease her silly wonderings. They'd have to pass by the area on their way to the border, anyway. They both knew the likelihood of finding other survivors this far removed from the road was slim to none. Yet she couldn't help but smile at the thought that he agreed in order to make her happy.

Four months. Four months they'd been on the road together. In all that time, they'd argued more than not. They'd fought tooth and nail over what was right and wrong in this new world, how they should remember the fallen, and whether or not Madonna was truly a music genius. There were times she wanted to pull his hair out: when he forced her to walk another mile, when he answered in single syllables, when he refused to acknowledge what they'd lost. Other times, she couldn't imagine her life without him: when he taught her to use his beloved crossbow, when he scouted and brought back her first alcoholic drink, when he patted her shoulder the nights she cried herself to sleep. He was her constant, her touchstone to a past life. She wasn't sure where she fit in his life—more than likely she was a burden he felt he had to carry in respect to her father. Be that as it may, the moments where he humored her hopeful outlook brought her a sense of joy amidst the pain.

"So," she said, falling into step beside him. "If there are people there and if you could have anything, what would it be?"

He smirked, but went along with the game. "Uh… let's see. First I'd want a stack of pancakes. Then maybe a good screw."

Beth halted, her lips parted in surprise. Heat rushed to her face. "Daryl!"

He twisted and, seeing her embarrassment, laughed. "Damn, it's so easy to get a rile outta you." He gave her shoulder a playful shove and resumed walking. "I'm only partly kiddin'."

She put a modicum of distance between them and willed herself to ignore the images flashing across her mind. "You're dirty," was the only response she could muster.

He tossed a look over his shoulder. "You're a prude."

"Well now you've ruined the game."

"Nu-uh! You still gotta answer."

"I don't think I will." Beth crossed her arms over her chest as she trudged along behind him. "If you can't play nice, then we won't play at all."

"Suit yourself."

As was customary, they walked on in silence, the moment of levity lost.

The sun climbed the sky in time with their steady pace. Despite the chill in the air, a whisper of warmth descended over the valley. Beth turned her face to the sun, drank in its rays. The moment of warmth reminded her of the long summer afternoons in the prison yard. She'd been hot and sticky then but content—happy even. She missed those days now more than ever.

The distance between the tree line and the smoke's point of origin was deceiving. At first glance, the smoke seemed relatively near; Beth guessed it wouldn't take them more than fifteen minutes to reach it. Yet with each step, the pillar of smoke seemed to retreat further away. A mile came and went, then two. Still, it seemed no closer. Beside her, Beth sensed Daryl's frustration grow. He walked faster, his hands curled around his bowstring. She didn't blame him. She was beginning to wonder if she had imagined the sight after all. At last, when they crested yet another hill, Beth's hunch proved correct.

Daryl stopped walking first. He held out his arm and, lost in thought, Beth ran into it.

With a frown, she stared at him. "Watch it!" The sun and the constant raw ache of hunger turned her tone sour. "What'd you stop for?"

"What the hell is that?"

Expecting to see nothing more than a herd of Walkers, Beth rolled her eyes as she followed his gaze. However, it wasn't an undulating mass of once-living bodies she saw but a fort. A real, man-made fort nestled at the top of the next hill. A memory of a family road-trip in the deep south of Georgia came to mind. Daddy had made them stop at Fort King George, said it was one of Georgia's many historical prides. Beth had yawned her way through the guided tour but there was no mistaking the difference between this fort and that one.

Becky broke into a run before Daryl could stop her. The downward slope and adrenaline carried her fast. Arms flailing at her sides, her legs pumped hard against the weariness in her body. Her heart beat to a single word: survivors, survivors, survivors. It wasn't long before she was halfway up the next hill.

A gun went off, and a hard body tackled her to the ground. Beth grunted as her forearms hit dirt. Daryl pushed her head toward the ground, his legs pinning hers to the earth.

"What the fuck do you think you're doin'!" His voice was a low growl in her ear. She squirmed under his weight. "You're lucky that kid is a lousy shot."

He remained atop her until she stopped fighting. Once she was still, he rolled to the side and moved to a crouching position. Beth remained flat on her stomach. Embarrassment kept her there, the sting of Daryl's obvious disappointment holding her in place. Her hands shook when she at last forced herself to crouch alongside him. Daryl nudged her with his elbow and nodded to the small pistol tucked in her waistband. She retrieved it, kept it hidden behind his broad back.

The fort loomed over them. From her place on the ground, Beth felt like an ant. Twelve foot wooden posts stretched skyward, sharpened to points at the end. The wall of timber continued either way until both ends curved and disappeared around the other side. A sign hung near a pair of heavy wooden doors: Deliverance, it read.

"Who goes there?" A small, quivering voice rang down from the fort. Looking up, Beth couldn't make out the figure standing high on the wall. The sun behind him obscured his face, but he sounded young and afraid. He pointed something at them—a gun more than likely.

Daryl cleared his throat and kept his hands empty and open for the figure to see. "Just us two," he said. "We don't mean ya any harm. She got excited, that's all. That's why she ran."

"You're alone? Unarmed?"

Daryl all but snorted. "Alone? Yeah. Unarmed? Hell no."

The figure paused. "What is it you seek?"

At the figure's formal speech, Daryl faltered. His mouth open and shut, confusion written across his face. Not for the first time, Beth took the moment of surprise and bent it to her advantage.

"We want a place to stay for the winter," she shouted.

Beside her, Daryl's jaw went tight. He skewered her with a dark look. Should they ever have a moment alone, she knew she was in trouble. At the moment, she didn't care.

"You seek sanctuary?"

Beth rose to her feet. "Yes, we seek sanctuary."

Jumping to his feet, Daryl grabbed her bicep, his fingers tight on her skin. "Beth," he warned.

She shook his hand away. "Can you give it to us? Sanctuary?"

The figure lowered his weapon. "Remain where you are," he said, then added, "Please," before disappearing from the wall.

For a moment, the pair kept quiet.

Daryl spoke first, his eyes glued to the fort, voice almost guttural. "I swear I could ring your neck right now."

"I shouldnta run—"

"Damn right!"

"—but I couldn't help myself, Daryl!" Beth pointed to the fort. "There's people out here. Real people!"

He turned to face her. Anger flashed in his eyes; she watched his hands curl to fists. "We don't know these people, Beth! What the hell are you doin' askin' them for sanctuary?"

"I'm doin' the same thing Rick did when you lot showed up on our farm."

This brought Daryl to a standstill. The anger drained from his face, and he blinked, his eyes searching hers. Finally, he said, "I don't like this."

"What are you goin' to do? Walk away?"

"I have half a mind to. We don't know if we can trust 'em. We don't know anythin' about 'em." He jabbed a finger in her face, his anger rising once more. "Just 'cause you're lonely doesn't mean we throw all the rules out of the window."

Beth ignored his subtle dig. She could nurse that later. Instead, she reminded again him of their shared past. "Did my daddy know anything about you?"

"Quit that! Your daddy ain't here! This is us, okay? You and me against who-knows-how-many in there. Are you really willin' to risk that?"

Before she could answer or think up a retort, one of the wooden doors let out a groan. In unison, the pair turned to watch the gate swing open.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The following chapters will be longer as the first two were simply a means to set up the premise. Would love to know what you think!


	3. 2

Daryl had his crossbow loaded and aimed before the gate finished opening. Beth grabbed his arm in a lame attempt to lower the weapon but, after years of assuming the same defensive stance at every turn, he could not be moved. His arm wouldn't budge, and Beth stopped trying. She stood at his side, waiting, breathing hard against her nerves.

The gate yawned open, unmoved by Daryl's tense shoulders and Beth's anticipation. It was impossible to tell what waited on the other side. Some portion of Beth's heart longed to see her sister, but she knew that was impossible. Her sister was long gone.

At last, the gate opened completely. A man and a woman stood side by side in the opening. Beth frowned, uncertain if what she saw was true. Beside her, Daryl's arm wavered. The crossbow dipped toward the ground.

The man—slim and old—spoke first. He spread his arms wide as if inviting them in for an embrace. "Welcome to Deliverance, my friends." He took two steps forward.

Daryl repositioned the crossbow so it aimed along the center of the old man's forehead. "Stay right there."

Rather than withdrawing his own weapon, the old man simply smiled and twisted his arms upwards in a sign of surrender. "You have no need to fear," he said. "I do not wish to harm you—only to greet you. Our man said you requested shelter?"

Beth glanced sidelong at Daryl. The same uncertainty roiling throughout her system was written plain across his face. She looked back at the man and woman.

They wore clothing straight out of a time capsule. She'd only ever seen similar outfits on PBS when her mother watched Masterpiece Classic. The old man wore tan pants held up by dark suspenders. His shirt, a pale blue and stained on the cuffs, was tucked snug in his pants, and a faded Stetson hat covered the beginnings of his salt-and-pepper gray hair. The woman wore a long purple dress with a full skirt and wrist-length sleeves. She held a knit shawl close to her bosom, and her hair fell in loose waves over her shoulders.

"Please, please—come inside, won't you?" The man waved his hand toward the gate, breaking Beth's concentration. "We were just sitting down for breakfast, if you would like to join us."

At the mention of food, Beth's mouth watered, and she unconsciously took a step forward. In a swift motion, Daryl lowered his crossbow in order to grab Beth's wrist and hold her back. His tight grip worked against her skin. His eyes spoke a warning she found almost too difficult to consider. Food—no matter what kind—was a temptation too hard to resist.

"I can see you are nervous," the man continued. "Allow me to put your minds at ease. I am Obadiah Yates and this is my wife, Miriam."

The old woman—Miriam—appeared at her husband's side. "We have bacon and eggs—fresh from our farm. Won't you join us?"

On cue, Beth's stomach grumbled loud enough for the others to hear. She turned to Daryl. "Please," she whispered. On some level, she knew she looked like a begging fool, but she didn't care. Not when a full meal of bacon and eggs was on the line. She adjusted her hand so Daryl's fingers slipped in-between hers. She squeezed his palm. When he finally met her pleading eyes, his shoulders relaxed.

"Just a meal," he said. "Then we'll be movin' on. We can find our own shelter."

Obadiah clapped his hands together, his grin ever-wider. "Of course you can. Still, you are welcome to take a meal with me and my family and rest as long as you like." He clasped Daryl on the shoulder and pulled him forward.

Beth's hand slipped out of Daryl's grasp, but she watched with a secret smile as Daryl allowed himself to be led into the fort. Obadiah spoke rapidly, and Beth was sure Daryl listened to none of it.

"What is your name, child?"

Beth met the warm gaze of Miriam. She had green eyes, like those of a long-dead, nearly-forgotten mother. "Beth," she said.

"Lovely name." Miriam looped her arm through Beth's and began walking after the men. Her steps were slow and patient. "How long have you been without shelter, Beth?"

"Four months or so."

"My, that's some time. And before that? Where were you before?"

Beth moved her eyes from Miriam's worn, gentle face to Daryl's broad shoulders some twenty yards ahead. The wings on his jacket were faded and cracked with age. Obadiah chattered, pointing out the guards along the fort walls, and Daryl nodded when appropriate, though Beth could see the way he judged the fort with his hard stare. Miriam followed Beth's eyeline. She gave a knowing nod.

"You needn't tell me," she said, patting Beth's arm. "We are simply glad you found us now."

The women reached the men, who stood waiting just inside the fort entrance. Obadiah motioned to a young boy hovering by the gate. At Obadiah's command, the boy pulled a tall, wooden lever and the gate creaked shut. Beth watched until the last sliver of open valley disappeared behind the massive doors. She let go of a breath she didn't know she'd been holding as the boy pushed a heavy beam into place, securing the gate. Beside her, Daryl stiffened.

Obadiah turned to the pair with a question on his face. "Would you like a tour of our humble enclave now or after breakfast? I know you're not planning on staying long, but I am so proud of operation that I simply must indulge myself with giving all of our visitors a tour."

Beth allowed her eyes a moment to roam the nearby surroundings. To the side, a ramshackle pen housed both snorting pigs and a pair of udder-swollen cows. Chickens pecked the ground then scattered when an orange tabby cat made its way through the flock. A young girl, no older than eight, paused in weeding a sprawling garden to wave at Miriam. A raw ache spread through Beth's chest, and she shifted closer to Daryl. She felt his eyes lower to her.

"We'll eat first," he said.

"Certainly, certainly." Obadiah resumed his pace. "As my mother used to say, 'The way to a man's heart is through his stomach.' Breakfast it shall be!"

They walked quick. Beth lengthened her strides to walk alongside Daryl. Obadiah's arms pumped back and forth, and Miriam fisted her hands in her skirts just to keep up, breathing hard. All the while, Beth caught flashes of a past life out of the corner of her eye: a well with a crank to lift the bucket, a clothesline laden with fluttering dresses, a lonely cart hitched to a horse. Based on the confusion etched along Daryl's brow, he noticed, too.

After climbing a small slope, the foursome crossed a clear divide between labor and living. Beth paused and glanced over her shoulder. Below, she could see the makeshift farm, the garden, and a tilled field that wasn't visible from the gate. Shifting her gaze forward, she saw on either side of the fort a row of log-cabins facing a central building.

"It looks like—"

Daryl silenced her with a hand to the shoulder. He knew what she was thinking—the prison. In a strange way, the layout of the fort was similar to that of their previous home. It was centuries older, but the same. The ache in her chest sharpened.

"And when the night—" Obadiah's steps stuttered, as did his continuous speech. He stopped walking and glanced between the hand on Beth's shoulder and her face. "What was that, dear?"

Beth shook her head. "Nothin'. It's just a… incredible place you got here."

"Well, I'm pleased you think so." He reached for his wife's hand. Miriam, cheeks flushed with exertion, smiled. "It's been a labor of love these few years, but we are over-joyed with the hope it has brought to the lives of many."

Miriam motioned to the central building behind her. "Our home is just there," she said. "I'm sure the others will be most happy to meet you."

Daryl's head titled at the mention of others, and his hand slid from Beth's shoulder to her elbow. "We won't be stayin' long."

Obadiah all but laughed in Daryl's face. "As you have said, my boy. Why don't you eat first and rest? Perhaps you will change your mind." He tossed a wink to Beth then curled his arm around Miriam's, finishing the walk to their house as a pair.

The steps to the Yates household porch creaked, as did the door when Obadiah pushed it open. At once, the smell of sizzling meat filled Beth's nose. She took a step over the threshold and breathed deep. Honey tinged the air; milk, too. She dropped her pack to the floor.

"Come and sit." Obadiah pressed a hand in the small of Beth's back and guided her toward the table. "Meet the family."

The center of the room housed a long table covered in a spread Beth had not seen since her last Thanksgiving before the outbreak. Eggs and bacon, buttered bread and fruit—her mouth salivated at the sight. Sitting in the chair Obadiah offered, she grabbed an apple in one hand and a slice of bacon in the other. She ate with gusto, sure to fill her cheeks with whatever landed on her plate. The flavors rivaled no other, and she was hard-pressed to pay attention to anything other than the meal before her. It had been a long time—a very long time—since she'd eaten and eaten well.

The sound of concealed laughter brought her to her senses. Beth looked up, mouth paused around the honey-soaked oats in her mouth.

In her excitement, she'd ignored the table's other occupants. Her eyes trailed down the opposite side of the table. Each chair was filled. Each pair of eyes watched her. Each body looked healthy and clean, all wearing similar clothes to Obadiah and Miriam. She swallowed hard, the food in her mouth gone dry.

"Daryl, Beth, I would like to introduce you to my family, the residents of our fair establishment." Obadiah, who stood at the head of the table, motioned to the twenty other adults. "And, of course, we cannot forget our progeny." He nodded to a separate table surrounded by six children.

Daryl, who sat across from Beth, looked across the faces with little interest then continued eating. Beth cleared her throat and rubbed her greasy hands across her pants. She managed a smile, though the attention made her cheeks feel warm. She lifted her hand in a motionless wave.

"Hi."

A few residents smiled in return, but most simply continued their blank stares. Beth didn't blame them; meeting new people in a world like this one seemed pointless. It was impossible to care when so often a new acquaintance died moments after an introduction. The few who did smile were older, their faces worn-in by the long years and horrors of the recent past. Beth wondered if her face had begun to show the same wear and tear.

"Our visitors here have been out in the wilderness for nigh on four months," Obadiah said as he took his seat. He reached for a bowl of scrambled eggs and scooped a heaping pile onto his plate.

"Four months?" Beth watched the young man who spoke elbow the boy on his left. "No wonder they're so covered in filth." The concealed snickers began again, and she glanced down at her hands.

The young man wasn't wrong—she was covered in filth. Her skin felt thick with layer upon layer of dirt and grime. Cracked blood had wormed its way underneath her nails long ago. Her scalp was sore from weeks without a wash. Her clothes—what was left of them, anyway—surely stunk. No, the young man wasn't wrong. She was disgusting. And, for the first time in ages, she was aware of just how disgusting.

"Elliot!" A woman across from the young man hushed him. "Mind your manners." She then turned to Beth with an apologetic smile. "You are most welcome here."

Silence settled over the table. Beth pushed the remains of her breakfast around her plate. Daryl picked at something between his teeth, unaffected.

"Well, as promised, you may take your leave or stay and rest awhile." Miriam placed a hand on Beth's shoulder blade. "There is an empty cabin you may use to rest, and I'm sure one of the ladies will be happy to draw you a bath, should you like one."

Beth looked up from her lap. She could see the tension on Daryl's face. He didn't like it here; it wasn't the prison; it wasn't the group he'd come to find a home within. He liked it better in the open air, where Walkers prowled every corner and danger hung over them like a heavy cloud. Beth was tired, though. She was tired of fighting and running and hoping. This place—this Deliverance—could offer them a moment of respite.

But she wouldn't ask him to stay. She was already a burden enough. She wouldn't make him stay where he felt caged in. So, she waited for him to respond.

Daryl studied her face openly, chewing on his lower lip, then shifted in his seat. He turned to Obadiah. "How bad are the winters out here?"

Obadiah nodded his head from side to side as he considered. "Not at bad as they could be. However, last year we were blessed with a white Yuletide." He paused, his eyes narrowed. "It can be monstrously cold some days." He left the implication hanging in the air, like bait on a hook.

Beth bit the inside of her cheek. She held her breath.

Daryl nodded and rose from the table. "We'll talk it through—stayin' for the winter, I mean."

"Marvelous! We are always pleased to welcome new residents. It is our hope that Deliverance grows until some semblance of normalcy has returned to this earth."

Obadiah stood; the other residents followed suit. Beth scrambled to her feet and watched as Obadiah motioned the sign of the cross over the group.

"May the grace of God go with you as you work today and may He bring us back as one this evening. Amen."

As a chorus, the residents repeated, "Amen."

Chatter unlike the earlier tense moments of quiet filled the room as residents shuffled to and fro. A few women rounded the children and herded them up a winding staircase to the second story. The men gathered their coats hanging on pegs along the wall. They left the building and walked down the slope toward the farm and the field, laughter and good-natured ribbing wafting behind them. Not for the first time, Beth thought of the prison, of the break between meals and the moments of levity amidst chaos.

She walked around the table to stand beside Daryl. He was picking up his crossbow from the floor and, when he rose to his full height, he stood close. She could smell the sweat on his skin and the weak coffee on his breath. She resisted the urge to barrel into his chest like she had all those months ago after Zach died. She was thankful for him, for his care over her, and in this near moment, the feeling rose in her chest like a wave.

Instead of throwing her arms around his shoulders, she offered him a smile.

"You mean it?" she whispered. "We'll talk about it?"

He grunted. "I say what I mean and I mean what I say. You should know that by now."

She did. He never minced words, and she still wasn't sure if she liked that or not.

Miriam squashed any chance for further conversation when she introduced another resident. "Beth, Daryl, I would like for you to meet Jonie Porter, one of the elders of Deliverance. She has graciously offered to help you settle in while you rest."

"Oh, it's no trouble. I'm glad to help." Jonie was short and round, her hair pulled into a tight bun at the base of her neck. When she smiled, her eyes twinkled, and Beth thought of a Mrs. Clause she'd once met at a department store. "You can follow me and I will show you to the cabin."

Jonie led Beth and Daryl out into the open air once their belongings were collected. Beth shivered against a sudden burst of cool wind. The meeting house had been so warm thanks to a fire in the stone heart. It felt strangely uncomfortable to be out in the cold again.

As they walked, Jonie pointed out the two rows of cabins.

"That side—" She nodded to the row of eight cabins on the far left. "—is where most of the young families live. They like to be together, as do the children of course. That leaves us old folks and single persons on this side." Jonie motioned to the row of six cabins they walked towards. "However, ask any of the old folk and we'd say we can rival the best of the young ones."

Jonie hobbled up the two steps to a plain, whitewashed cabin. The porch overhang provided shelter from the increasing wind.

"Harold Pitts used to live here, but he fell ill last summer after a field accident." Jonie produced a ring of keys from beneath the folds of her heavy skirt. She slid a skeleton key into the lock and pushed open the door. A patch of red paint broke off, which she bent to retrieve. "He liked his home to be bright, so he painted the door and window-casings red, the silly man. I think it reminded him of the Passover, you know—from Exodus with the Israelites. He knew his Bible well."

Both Daryl and Beth hesitated at the threshold. After a moment's silence, Jonie shook herself free of her memories.

"Well, go in, children!" she said, all but pushing Daryl through the doorway. "It's not much, but it—"

"It's probably the nicest place we've had in a really long time," Beth said. She reached out to squeeze Jonie's fleshy hand. "Really, it's great."

Jonie's smile shifted from one of polite formality to a genuine glow. She kept hold of Beth's hand as she explained the simple layout of the cabin.

"It's one room," she said, pointing to a closed door in the far corner. "The fireplace will boil all of your water and heat whatever food you may desire. We gather our water from the well down the hill. Thank blessed heaven for the natural spring; it keeps us watered and well. And you must forgive the lack of furnishings. After Harold passed, we divided his belongings between the other residents. Should you choose to stay, you will be given what items can be spared."

"Does the door lock?" Daryl turned around from one of the windows which looked onto the fort's back wall.

Jonie hesitated at his question then nodded. "Yes, it does—but we in Deliverance generally keep our doors unlocked. It's a safe community, as the Yates have built it to be so."

He nodded and resumed his slow perusal of the cabin.

"I should leave you to rest, then." She released Beth's hand with a final squeeze. "Would either of you be interested in a bath? I can help you bring up the water which is necessary."

Beth glanced at Daryl, who gave a nearly imperceptible shake of the head. His face spoke an eagerness she knew all too well—he was unhappy and they needed to talk. Still, the grime on Beth's skin hurt, and she didn't want to miss the chance. But she'd made Daryl enter the fort with little room for debate. She could put off the chance for cleanliness a few hours longer to hear his complaints.

"Maybe later," she said, shrugging. "I think we might wanna nap awhile first. It's been a long day."

"Certainly. You come and find me when you change your mind."

Jonie left the cabin with a reminder that supper was served at sundown. Then Beth closed the door and they were alone. Outside, the wind whipped against the walls, but she didn't feel it. The sensation brought a smile to her lips. Shelter—good shelter after four months.

The sound of Daryl's crossbow clattering to the floor turned Beth's smile into a grimace. She twisted on her heel.

She launched into her defense before he could speak. "What? What could really be so wrong with this place?"

Arms crossed, Daryl stood behind the square table in the center of the room. "I don't like it, Beth," he said, ignoring her question. "I think we outta leave."


	4. 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I'm all caught with the chapters previously written and posted on ff.net. This means the updates will come slower, but I'd still love to hear your thoughts. Thanks for the positive response so far.

They fought and they fought hard. He didn't like the way he couldn't see above the walls; she felt secure. He didn't like the way the residents spoke or prayed or dressed; she thought it all a nice reprieve from the grunge which had taken over the world. He wasn't sure what to make of Obadiah; she couldn't help but remember her father whenever the old man was near. Back and forth they debated, but in the end, the impending winter was what made Daryl cave. It had been a long time since either of them had to face a change of season without proper shelter.

"Once winter's done, we're out of here. But if we need to leave sooner than that you listen to me," he said. His face was hard and serious. "No arguin'."

Lower lip caught between her teeth, Beth could only nod. There was no point in continuing the argument. Spring was a long way off; they could fight again once the ground thawed.

"It's a nice place." Beth dropped her pack on the table and crossed to the fireplace. The stones were cool to the touch, and a pile of gray ashes rested in the hearth beneath a grate. She poked the ashes with the toe of her boot. "Kinda reminds me of the farm."

From the cabin's back corner, Daryl huffed in response. He pushed the bedroom door open. "We got a problem."

"What problem?" She went to his side, eager now for the bath Josie offered and a solid afternoon of rest. When she reached his side and peered into the bedroom, her shoulders deflated. "Oh."

"One bed."

"Yeah." She remained quiet, thinking of all those nights in the wilderness spent separated by a low fire, and shrugged. "We'll make do."

Even to her own ears, she sounded uncertain. Despite her constant appreciation for Daryl's care, he was still… Daryl. The idea of sharing a bed—as innocent as that may be—made her stomach clench in a way it hadn't before when thinking of him. She stepped back, returned to the small corner kitchen. The three cabinets underneath the window suddenly seemed very interesting. She crouched and opened their doors, searching for any useful items.

Over her shoulder, she heard him close the bedroom door and shuffle toward the fireplace. "I'll sleep on the floor," he mumbled, so quiet she almost missed it.

Beth paused in her inspection of the cabinets. So far, she'd only found a few canned goods—corn, tuna, baked beans—and a box of matches. Daryl's words made her hesitate, though. She looked at him and watched as he prepared the hearth for a fire.

"You're not sleepin' on the floor, Daryl," she said. She said it as matter-of-factly as she could, but something about the edge in her voice sounded a lot like Maggie and those annoying sisterly concerns. "You gotta take the bed."

"You need it more than I do."

"Who says? You did most of the work out there. If anythin', you deserve it more than I do."

"I want you to have it."

"No, I want you to have it. Or we can just both have it."

"We ain't sleepin' together." Daryl grabbed a log from the pile beside the fireplace. He didn't look at her when he spoke.

Her cheeks warmed at his wording, and she turned back to the cabinets. "If it matters that much we can take turns." In the second cabinet, she found a stash of candles. The third cabinet held an itchy afghan and a broken flashlight.

"You'll take the damn bed and quit whinin' about it." He tossed a thin log on the pile in the hearth. It banged against the metal grate, the sound echoing through the empty cabin. She startled. "Go tell that Josie lady you want your bath."

Beth rose to her feet slowly. She held the afghan against her chest. Daryl had always had a short fuse, but perhaps staying here in Deliverance was the straw that broke his back. He wouldn't leave her; he was too loyal to do that. But she knew staying wasn't truly what he wanted. Not for the first time, he was sacrificing his own freedom to keep her safe. She should thank him, yet the bark in his voice made her jaw squeeze tight with frustration.

She all but stomped to the front door. "I'll tell her to pour you one, too," she said. "You stink."

–x–

Daryl napped while Beth bathed.

Josie had showed Beth which well to haul the water from and where the Yates stored the metal tubs. Three repurposed water troughs now served as Deliverance's only method for bathing. In the shed behind the meeting house, there was a sign-up list used to schedule residents who wanted to bathe, but Josie assured Beth it was okay they borrowed one without signing the list. Together, they'd dragged the trough across the yard into the cabin's living room. Daryl had retreated to the bedroom before the tub was even settled before the new fire.

She'd scrubbed her skin raw and washed her scalp until she was sure her nails would dig into her skull. Now, she sat chin-deep in the lukewarm water, watching the fire flicker against the stone. A renegade tear slipped down her cheek, and she brushed it away. Thinking of her sister always made her do that—cry. She just wished she'd had more time to tell Maggie everything, to get to know her better as a sister and a friend. But the world was a cruel place, now more than ever. Maggie was gone and her daddy was, too. No amount of crying or wishing would bring them back.

Standing in the tub, Beth toweled herself dry and stepped onto the hardwood floor. Her bare feet left wet marks as she padded to the table. Josie had laid out a dress for Beth to wear once clean. Though Beth hadn't yet told Josie of their intention to stay, she wondered if the old woman suspected.

The dress was a floor-length deep blue cotton with small white flowers and lace around the short sleeves and neck. By far, it was one of the prettiest dresses Beth had ever put on—even if it was a few hundred years out of style. It fit snug around her waist, and the clean fabric was a miracle against her clean skin. She felt new and fresh and on the verge of becoming human again.

Only she couldn't manage the buttons near the top of her back. She twisted her arm in an attempt to reach the elusive things but it was no use. She needed help, loathe as she was to admit it.

Swallowing hard, she tip-toed to the bedroom door and knocked. There was a rustle and then quiet.

"Daryl?" No answer. "Daryl, you awake?"

She heard him sigh. "Yeah. What is it?"

"I need help with my buttons."

His boots dropped to the floor. When the door opened, he stood on the other side, hair mussed by sleep, eyes swollen from a few hours' hard rest. His eyes raked her over.

"What the hell are you wearin'?"

Beth glanced at the dress, her fingers running along the skirt. "Josie gave it to me. My clothes are too dirty."

He said nothing more, only spun his finger around in a silent request for her to do the same. She pulled her wet hair over her shoulder to allow him access. His breath fanned the back of her neck as he fought the stiff buttons. The pads of his worn fingers brushed against the skin of her shoulder blade, and she stiffened, shocked by the unfamiliar touch.

"You gonna take a bath?" she asked. "I meant it when I said you stink."

There was a long pause before he answered. She could still feel his fingertips along her neck. Finally, he stepped back and said, "If we're gonna be here awhile… might as well."

"I can get you some fresh water—"

"Nah, it's fine." He went to the fireplace and placed another log on the grate. A fresh plume of sparks shot through the chimney.

Beth worked her hands in front of her waist. "We're gonna need to head back over for dinner soon and tell 'em all we're stayin'." She paused, worrying her lower lip, before taking a step forward. "Daryl, if you really don't feel right about stayin', we don't have to."

"We're gonna stay." He rose from the hearth and peeled off his jacket. It hit the floor with a muffled thud and soon his boots followed. "I already said we're stayin'."

Beth frowned and turned away when he stripped off his undershirt. She touched the clothes which remained on the table for him. "It just seems like you aren't happy about it."

"I'm not," he said. She heard his belt jingle as his pants dropped to the ground. Water splashed over the tub and onto the floor when he settled in the trough. She turned her back to him completely, sure her face was aflame.

"Then why'd you say yes?"

"'Cause you're right—winter ain't gonna be pretty. Might as well hole up with a bunch of weirdos if we have to. Better than bein' out of our own. Now could you hand me the bar of soap? I can't find the one in here."

Beth scrambled for the fresh rag and soap bar on the table. She held them out, avoiding his eyes. He pulled them from her hand with more force than was necessary. She wanted to shoot him a glare, tell him to quit acting like a baby since he was the one who agreed to staying in Deliverance, but he was naked in the tub and she was fully clothed and this day hadn't turned out the way she thought it would. Instead, she mumbled something about her hair under her breath and went into the bedroom.

She closed the door softly, pressing her forehead against the wood, exhaling through her mouth.

Embarrassment, that's what it was. That uncomfortable feeling in the pit of her stomach was merely embarrassment. She'd never been in the room when a man undressed before and—

She pushed the feeling aside. It was all ridiculous—this whole day, this whole place. He was Daryl; she was Beth. She needed him and he was stuck with her. They would stay in Deliverance for the winter, conform to the resident's rules, then leave. It would be better that way.

Turning away from the door, she surveyed the bedroom. It was narrow, cramped. She tested the bed shoved in the corner. It had a nice spring to it, and the pillow was heaven after weeks with nothing to cushion her head. A tall window above the bed looked onto the next cabin. She pulled the thin curtain shut then crossed to the table and straight back chair.

The table pushed against the wall was bare aside from a small, circular mirror. In the lone drawer, she found a long white ribbon and an antique hairbrush. The hairbrush's silver handle weighed heavy in her hand, and she ran her finger along a painting of a daisy on the back.

She ran the brush through her damp hair, combing out the tangles. Once sufficiently combed, she pulled the sides of her hair back and looped the white ribbon in a bow, holding the pieces in place. She wished she had a bit of makeup to bring color back to her face, but that was a luxury no one could afford. The dress, the hair—it would all have to do.

Rising, she glanced at herself in the mirror. It had been a long time since she caught a glimpse of her reflection. She wasn't altogether displeased, especially since she'd just bathed. Her eyes looked tired and heavy, but in the grand scheme of things, she figured she looked okay. The dress helped, she thought. It made her look grown up.

"Hey!" Daryl's fist pounding against the door jerked Beth out of her thoughts. "You ready to go?"

She startled. How much time had she wasted only thinking about herself? She could have been doing something—anything—to help out. Instead, she'd been staring at herself in the mirror, dreaming about makeup. She shook her head hard. Stupid girl. No wonder Daryl thought she was a burden.

"You okay in there?"

"Yeah, yeah—I'm fine! Just… puttin' on my shoes."

Beth pinched the skin of her arm. "Don't be a fuck up," she whispered. She opened her eyes and looked at herself in the mirror again. Instead of the woman from seconds earlier, a little girl stared back at her. "Don't be a fuck up."

She left the room, but not before slamming the mirror face-down on the table.

Daryl stood at the front door, waiting. "You fall asleep or somethin'?"

She shook her head. "No, I was just thinkin'."

He narrowed his eyes, looked her up and down. "Dress looks nice."

Beth pulled her tan shawl off a peg on the wall. She wrapped it around her shoulders. "You're just sayin' that 'cause you feel bad."

"Nah, I mean it." He opened the door, crossbow still slung over his shoulder, and headed out into the evening.

"Wait!" She hurried after him and grabbed his shoulder. "It's my turn."

He stopped walking and allowed her a moment to look over his new outfit. His white dress shirt was crumpled around the waist, and his navy vest hung open, fluttering in the evening breeze. Coupled with a pair of sensible brown pants, he looked almost normal. His hair was still too long, though; always had been. She was surprised he put the clothes on without any fuss, but maybe after months in the same unwashed outfit, he was as thankful as she for the new garments.

"Does it feel good?" she asked. "To wear somethin' clean again?"

With a grimace, he pulled on the suspenders beneath his vest. "I feel like a goddamn monkey in this thing."

"You look fine." Beth reached out to squeeze his forearm. The muscles under her fingers tensed, and she dropped her hand. "You need to let me cut your hair, though."

He almost laughed at this. The faintest trace of a smile flickered around the corners of his mouth. Shaking his head, he grabbed her wrist, his hold light, and pulled her toward the meeting house.

"I ain't ever gonna let you touch my hair, girl."

"We'll see about that, Mr. Dixon. I can be very persuasive if I want to be."

He let go of her wrist, his eyes darting to her in what looked like surprise. The moment passed, however, when they reached the meeting house door. Already Beth could hear the conversation within. The scent of meat drifted between the cracks of the wooden house, and Beth forgot all about Daryl's hair. Her stomach rumbled with hunger.

Inside, the scene was similar to the scene during breakfast; however, conversation flowed as freely as the wine and as comfortable as the warmth from the massive fire in the hearth. It seemed all residents were in attendance. Every seat, save two, were taken. Beth sat down, mouth watering and eyes wide as she examined the contents of the dinner table. Daryl sat to her left, the young man from breakfast—the one who'd so publicly pointed out her filth—sat to her right.

Beth leaned close to Daryl, unable to keep the anticipation out of her voice. "I swear I could eat this whole table myself," she whispered. "Why isn't anyone eatin' yet?"

"I may drink that keg in thirty seconds flat." He nodded to a barrel of wine near the fire. With a sigh, he rubbed the ever-increasing lines on his forehead. "God, I need I drink."

A voice interrupted Daryl's next sentence. "You look well."

Beth turned to the young man on her right. She blinked, uncertain. "Are you talkin' to me?"

He smiled, revealing straight, white teeth. "Of course! I'm certainly not talking to my sister." He elbowed the girl on his opposite side, who continued speaking without paying her brother any mind. "I'm Elliot Jackson."

"I know. I remember you from this mornin'."

Elliot had the decency to look away, contrite. He cleared his throat and ran a hand through his thick brown curls. "Yes, right… this morning… I'm terribly sorry. Sometimes I speak before I can stop myself." He looked at her again, his eyes reminding her of a dairy cow's. "Truly, I am sorry."

Beth hesitated before shrugging her shoulders. "It's okay," she said. "You weren't sayin' anythin' that wasn't true."

"On the contrary! I can see now I was incredibly mistaken." He twisted in his seat to face her better. "When I said you look well, what I meant was you look… lovely, if I may say so."

Beth swallowed the urge to giggle behind her hand. Her cheeks warmed and she glanced at her lap, biting on her lip to keep from grinning like a fool. She was a girl hardened by loss and violence and despair. No—she was a woman. No matter her silly blunders or girlish embarrassments, the events of years past had turned her from a girl to a woman. And women didn't blush or simper when pretty boys gave them compliments.

Still, it had been a long time since anyone had noticed her. Elliot's words were nice, a balm to her calloused heart.

She looked up and met his gaze. "You can say it… if you wanna." She stretched out her hand. "I'm Beth."

His hand slid into hers, soft, much softer than Daryl's. "I know," he said. His eyes seemed to sparkle in the light of the candles which stretched along the table.

Beside her, Daryl shifted. His elbow grazed Beth's, and she dropped Elliot's hand with a smile.

Maybe… Maybe Deliverance wouldn't be so bad. Living alongside Daryl would be rough—he was stubborn and crass and a pain in the neck, but she'd been on the run with him the past four months. What was a few more weeks inside the shelter of a welcoming community? Perhaps they wouldn't have to grin and bear it. They could settle down here, stay, build a new life. Her smile widened into a grin at the thought.

"Forgive my tardiness!" Obadiah spoke from the second story of the building, interrupting all conversation, his voice booming down over the railing. As he moved toward the stairs, the residents rose from their seats.

Beth followed Elliot's cue and stood. She tugged on Daryl's sleeve until he looked up. With a barely concealed roll of the eyes, he stood, his movements languid.

Once the head of the table, Obadiah took his wife's hand. The other residents followed suited, and quickly, Elliot caught Beth's hand. He leaned down and whispered, "We hold hands during prayer."

Beth grabbed Daryl's hand. She gave it a squeeze and peered up at him with a smile. So much of Deliverance reminded her of home. It made her warm and fuzzy, and that was a feeling she would savor for every moment it latest.

"Lord God, thank you for guiding us all through our work day and bringing us together again as one for supper. Amen."

Under her breath, Beth whispered with the others, "Amen."

Obadiah motioned for all to take their seats. His smile was broad, like Beth's, and welcoming. Under the table, Elliot kept a firm grasp on Beth's hand. Obadiah's next words blurred as she felt her heart beat hard against her chest.

"I trust we all made sufficient progress on our respective jobs today?" A low murmur spread through the residents, and Obadiah chuckled, waving his hand for quiet. "It is surprising what a little encouragement from Mother Nature will do. Now, before we begin supper, I want to remind us all of our duties in preparing for the winter season—"

"Dear, don't forget about our guests."

Obadiah blinked, startled by his wife's gentle hand on his arm. He looked first at his wife then at Daryl. Recognition turned to surprise. He slapped the back of his chair, his laughter as loud as his voice.

"By Jove! I barely recognized the pair of you! Goodness, Mrs. Porter got you suited up and everything. You almost look like part of our community, you do."

Daryl glanced sidelong at Beth. She could tell he didn't like this, the way Obadiah stood and he sat. He squirmed in his chair like a kindergartener ready for afternoon recess. Finally, unable to sit still, he rose. Obadiah's eyes narrowed, but the community leader said nothing.

"About that…" Daryl itched the back of his head. "We were thinkin' about stayin' on for the winter."

Miriam clasped her hands together with a gasp. "Oh, how delightful!"

Obadiah was slow to the same joy as his wife. "Yes… delightful."

Too many seconds of scrutinizing. Too much quiet.

Beth chewed the inside of her cheek. Had they misread the invitation? Maybe it was just a pleasantry. Only the Yates had been so persistent, they couldn't have misread the moment. She was ready to stand and beg Daryl to leave when Obadiah's face shifted. His questioning gaze morphed into one of pure excitement. He snapped at his wife and dropped to his seat.

"Miriam, fetch me my ledger! Hurry!"

Miriam, nearly giddy, rushed from her chair to a hatchback desk tucked away from the center room. She returned with a heavy, leather-bound book. The book gave a hearty thump when it hit the table. Obadiah opened it and flipped to the most recent page then withdrew a pair of slim reading glasses and perched them along his nose.

Looking up, he pointed to the chair. "Sit, boy, sit," he said with a smile. "I merely get excited when we have new residents."

Daryl sat, though his shoulders were pulled tight and his eyes glued to Obadiah and the book.

"I keep this book with the names of all who have passed through our gates and stayed. Each person here"—Obadiah nodded to the sitting residents, who looked on with a sort of fondness.—"is chronicled in our ledger. One day, should the world rebuild from this accursed mess, this book will tell history what we did here. And now your names will be a part of history."

He poised his pen along a blank line. "Daryl and Beth—what is your surname, pray tell?"

"Dixon," Daryl said.

Obadiah wrote their names in the ledger, sealed for all eternity in writing. "Daryl and Beth Dixon. Your relation? Uncle and niece, I presume? Siblings?"

"No. We're married."

Elliot's hand slipped from Beth's grasp, and Beth felt her blood run cold as ice.


	5. 4

The door of the cabin slammed shut before Daryl could make it to the front porch. Beth was mad—and he didn’t blame her. 

He hesitated before entering. His fingers itched for a cigarette. The wine at dinner had been weak at best; it did nothing to take the edge off. A cigarette would help, but a bottle of hard tequila would be ideal. Neither of those were at his disposal, and that’s what made this place a shit-hole. He turned around, faced the meeting house in the distance, with pale light still flickering behind its windows. If he concentrated hard enough, he could still make out the faint whispers of laughter within. 

God, what the hell was he doing here? 

Overhead, the moon shone down like a spotlight. It illuminated the fort, and Daryl wondered whether or not he would ever see the open valley again. There’s was something about this place… It niggled at the back of his head like a bedbug. 

He shook his head and shouldered his way into the cabin. This is where he’d set his stake. He’d promised Beth they’d stay; he didn’t go back on his promises. No matter his misgivings—for now anyway.

“I’m gonna kill you, Daryl Dixon!” 

She was on him like a fly on flypaper. Her attack was messy and unprepared, but she had the element of surprise on her side. Her full body weight plus Daryl’s shock had them tumbling to the ground in a heap of skirt and clawing arms. He hit the floor hard, his left elbow taking the brunt of the blow. After the initial shock had worn off, he overpowered her with little issue. Without the element of surprise, her only advantage might be the pure anger which fueled her fire. Still, he was stronger and she was barely a wisp. He had her on her back, wrists pinned to the floor, in one easy motion. 

“We gonna talk this out now?” 

She struggled under his tight hold. Her legs thrashed, her feet pounding against the floor like a toddler in the midst of a tantrum. An errant tear, glistening in the light of the dying fire, slid down her cheek. 

“We gonna talk?”  
A pause. The thrashing stopped. She nodded. Her head lolled toward the hearth, and the glow of the embers bathed her face in orange light. 

Daryl peeled himself off the floor. He kept his hands raised and his stance low, well-aware she could pounce again at any time. At last, she sat up. The fury—the embarrassment—on her face was unmistakable. He tried not to bristle at that.

“Why’d you do it?” 

She spoke through clenched teeth, and he thought of Maggie. There’d once been a time when he thought the Greene sisters couldn’t be more different. The past five minutes alone told him they were more similar than anyone had ever given them credit for. They had that same stubborn, obstinate, loyal streak; he was afraid it would get one—if not both—killed one day. Perhaps it already had…

“What else was I supposed to do?”

“Tell the truth.”

At this, Daryl stood, shaking his head. “No way. We don’t know these people. Ain’t no way in hell I’m lettin’ one of them horny kids get the wrong idea.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Beth scrambled to her feet. Her skirt, long as it was, tangled around her ankles, but she stood firm. Her hands clenched in fists at her sides.

“I saw that kid and his hand.” He turned, shrugged off his gray suit coat, and tossed it to the line of pegs on the wall. It fell to the floor, missing the mark, and he kicked it away. “God knows the last time these guys have seen a pretty face. Ain’t gonna let them try nothin’.”

“Elliot was just bein’ nice—”

He toed off his boots, hung his crossbow on the doorknob, locked the door. “No such thing anymore.” 

“So, all these people, this fort, it’s full of evil people? And you’re supposed to be—what? My knight in shinin’ armor?”

Glancing out the window, he shrugged. He squinted into the night, trying in vain to watch for shadowy figures in the dark. “If that’s how you wanna paint it.” 

“Would you look at me when I’m talkin’ to you!” She huffed, and he could hear the raw frustration in her voice. “You had no right sayin’ I’m your wife! Nobody is gonna believe that.”

Daryl sighed. He faced her, brow arched. “What’s done is done,” he said.

Beth worked her jaw side to side. Hell, if she started crying… He could handle anything—a dozen walkers, the end of the world, a psychotic Governor. Beth Greene crying? That was a battle he sorely wished he could avoid. 

Instead, she said nothing. She went to the corner kitchen, squatted, and rifled through the cabinets. Her movements were hurried and frantic, and he swore he could hear a swallowed sob or two. Still, she kept her face turned away, her back straight and shoulders strong. 

“I’ll sleep out here near the door.” 

He thought the gesture might make her feel more comfortable; it certainly made him feel more comfortable. Yet it only proved to make her feel worse. Her cries rang free, and he cringed.   
“Beth…” He stepped forward, hand partly outstretched in what little comfort he could offer.

She ignored it. Pressing her hand to her mouth, she fled the room in a flash of blue skirt and blonde hair. The door to the bedroom banged shut. 

A second later the fire in the hearth went out with a hiss, and Daryl was left in darkness.

–x–

The sound of gentle—but annoyingly persistent—knocking dragged Daryl out of a deep sleep come the following morning. He sat up, his hand curling around the knife at his side. Years of living on edge had taught him to never let his guard down, no matter how deceptively safe his surroundings were. Rising to his feet, he tossed a look over his shoulder. The bedroom door was closed; Beth must either be avoiding him or still asleep. He didn’t know which was better. 

There was no way to tell who stood on the other side of the door, but whoever it was, they wouldn’t give up. The knocking continued, switching from one cheery beat to another. It grated against Daryl’s nerves. Everything about this place grated on his nerves. He removed his crossbow from the doorknob and set it aside, out of eyesight. Then, hand on his knife, he unlocked the door and inched it open. 

A towering man with fiery red hair and beard stood on the porch. He smiled. There were a few pockets in his gums were teeth should have been, and he seemed to be missing a large chunk of his left ear. 

“Mornin’, Dixon! Since you and the wife have decided to stay on with us, we thought we’d bring back some of your belongings. Mind if we come in?” He glanced around Daryl’s shoulder, a single bushy eyebrow raised. “You aren’t indecent, are you?”

“No.”

“Well, good!” 

The man, all muscle and power, pushed his way into the living room. Daryl stumbled back. His back hit the wall, and he stuck his foot out to catch the swinging door before it could connect with his face. He growled under his breath.

The man dropped a pile of fresh firewood near the hearth then directed two other men carrying a couch through the door. The men lowered the sofa before the fireplace before exiting. They returned with an antique rocking chair and an old cedar chest. One of the men looked to Daryl for direction.

“Where would you like us to put this?”

Daryl stepped away from the wall and gestured to nothing in particular. “Anywhere. I don’t care.” 

He retreated to the kitchen, leaned against the counter, and watched as more furniture—chairs for the kitchen table, shabby curtains for the windows, a bookcase—were carried in and deposited. Not for the first time, he desperately wished for a drink.

The lumberjack-looking man who’d woken him from his first good night’s sleep in years broke the moment of sulking. Crossing his arms, he leaned against the counter. After a moment, he elbowed Daryl and nodded to the blanket on the floor. “I see you’ve been relegated to the living room—the doghouse, so they call it.”

Daryl shifted on his feet. “Beth wasn’t feelin’ well last night. We ain’t used to all that food.”

The big man grinned. “Yeah, I remember when my wife and I first arrived. We ate like pure gluttons. Paid for it, too. You’ll get used to it.” He paused then extended a beefy hand. “Name’s Jep Porter. My wife is Jonie. I believe you’ve already met her.”

“I did, yeah.” 

“She should be on her way over with some of the womenfolk. I think they’re bringin’ stuff to make this place homey again.” Jep waved his hand in dismissal, his following words laced with laughter. “I dunno—I leave them to their devices. You know how wives can be.”

Daryl didn’t, but he nodded nonetheless. He could imagine—imagine what Beth would be like if given free reign over their little cabin—but he didn’t want to.

The bedroom door opened with a soft creak. Both men turned to see Beth slip out from behind the door. Her hair was braided and her dress creased, as if she’d spent the night in it. Her eyes were swollen, as if she’d cried until sleep claimed her. She looked small and fragile, and Daryl couldn’t help but wonder if he’d done that to her. 

She glanced over the new furniture, the open door, the men watching her. With a timid smile, she brushed a stray lock of hair behind her ear and stepped closer to Daryl’s side. He could still smell the soap on her skin. When she spoke, it was hardly above a whisper.

“Mornin’.”

He thought about reaching out, showing some form of husbandly affection—perhaps an arm around the shoulder or a touch to the side of her head—but he stopped himself. He doubted she would appear at all a loving wife if he did, so he kept his greeting to a nod. 

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Dixon.” Jep clasped Beth’s hand between his. To his credit, he didn’t look her up and down, didn’t comment on the age disparity between the couple. He merely glanced at Daryl then back at Beth, something akin to humor sparkling in his eyes. “I heard you weren’t feelin’ too good last night, that you kicked your poor husband out like a dog.”

There was a clear pause, thick with tension, between Jep’s comment and Beth’s reply. A muscle in her jaw ticked. Then her pinched lips eased into a smile, and she touched Daryl’s arm. She looked at him with a tenderness that should be reserved for someone else. He squirmed under her gaze, heat crawling up the back of his neck.

“I didn’t want Daryl to spend the whole night fussin’ over me. Besides, he doesn’t like feeling caged in.”

Jep frowned. He pushed off the counter. “This place too small for you, Dixon? ‘Cause I built most of these cabins with my bare hands and if it ain’t up to your standards…” His sentence trailed off, hanging on the end of a veiled threat. 

Daryl skewered Beth with a dark stare, but she simply fluttered her eyelashes. He didn’t know her to be so spiteful. She was going to make him pay dearly for ever claiming her as his wife; he could feel it. 

“It’s a good place, Porter,” Daryl said. “She didn’t mean nothin’ by it.”

Jep looked between the pair again before he released a breath. Hand on one hip, he pointed to the door. “My wife’s gonna be here soon. I suggest you hightail it out with me before this whole place explodes with a bunch of nonsense. ‘Sides, Yates wants to place you this mornin’.”

“Place me?”

“Give you a job. We all got our parts to play in Deliverance. You signed up for it once your name was written in the ledger.” He stuck a thin cigar between his remaining teeth; Daryl’s mouth watered. “I’ll meet ya outside.”

When Jep was out of earshot, Daryl grabbed Beth’s arm. His fingers dug into her flesh, and she winced, pulling away. He held tighter. 

“Listen to me, Beth.” His finger waved dangerously close to skimming her cheek. He eased up his hold, but kept his finger firmly in her face. “I said you’re my wife ‘cause I’m tryin’ to keep you safe. I’m sorry if makes you mad, but you gotta get over it. These people—I just don’t trust ‘em and if you go around makin’ them pissed ‘cause you’re mad at me then—”

Beth wrenched herself out of his grasp. “Okay, I get it. I’m sorry.” He was almost surprised by her acquiescence. But her words were a hushed whisper, her hand on his forearm again, her head tilted toward the front door. He followed her eyes.

A gaggle of women—that was the only word he could use to describe the four women on the way to the cabin—neared the front porch. They carried baskets in their hands, full of linens and canned goods and fresh fruit. Jep was right—he should get out of here while he had the chance.

Beth squeezed his arm before he could make a run for it. “Really, Daryl,” she said. She looked at him with that same tenderness of moments earlier—only this time, there wasn’t anyone around to convince. “I’m sorry. I know you’re tryin’ to help.”

“Yeah, well, we gotta live, don’t we?” 

Grabbing his crossbow, Daryl skirted around the group of women with a nod of his head. He met Jep outside, who gestured to the weapon.

“You won’t be needin’ that, son.”

“Rather keep it with me.”

“Suit yourself.” Jep crunched the butt of his cigar under his heel and jerked his head toward the meeting house. He began walking, and Daryl fell into step alongside him. “We meet up every mornin’ ‘round seven for work. You’ll be expected to join us.”

Daryl kept quiet. Walking around the fort brought with it a familiar feeling. He hated to admit it, but it was the feeling of peace, of contentment despite the circumstances. He’d only ever felt that once before—at the prison. He sure as hell didn’t want to feel it here. He couldn’t afford to let his guard down. Not ever. Still, the stillness, the high walls, and the absence of any Walkers was tantalizing. 

He followed Jep inside the meeting house. A group of men—ten at most—stood around the table. It was absent of food this time, something which made Daryl’s stomach rumble with hunger. He was used to that feeling; he thrived on it. It kept him alert, and he needed that now more than ever. 

“Good morning, Porter, Dixon.” Obadiah waved them over. He leaned against the table with all the air of nonchalance. “We were waiting for you to join us.”

“I nearly had to drag Dixon here out of bed. But we’re here now.”

“Ah yes, the first night’s rest. I remember that fondly.” Obadiah smiled as he remembered. “Feels good, no?”

“Sure.”

With a shake of his head, Obadiah chuckled. “You are a man of few words, my friend. I like that.” He stood and brought the other men to attention. “Which of you, then, will volunteer to apprentice our Mr. Dixon? But, perhaps, I should ask the man in question: what is it you are interested in doing here?”

“I’m a hunter. I ain’t ever done anythin’ else.”

“Well, that’s a very prestigious job around Deliverance, sir.” Obadiah glanced around the group of men. Some smirked or laughed under their breath. “We tend to keep our people behind the walls. Safety, you know.”

“I’ve spent the better part of three years livin’ in this hell-world. I know how to handle a Walker.”

“And I’m sure you do.” Obadiah’s face hardened. “But you won’t be joining our hunting squad. Not yet, anyway.” He gestured to a lithe man with a near shaved head save for the bun atop his skull. “You can go with Keefe Marcus. He’ll apprentice you—won’t you, Marcus?”

Marcus nodded. He looked Daryl over, his stare uninterested. “Know anythin’ about metal work?”

“I know how to fix a bike.”

Marcus huffed. “That’s better than nothin’.”

“Then it’s settled. Dixon will work with Marcus in the smithy. Wonderful! Go on your way then, and may the Lord bless you and keep you.”

The group dispersed, gathering their belongings strewn about the room. Daryl hesitated. He kept his hold tight on his crossbow. The men filtered out of the room, conversation bubbling easy and swift. Flashes of the prison—of Rick and Glenn and Hershel—came to mind.

“Now, about that hunting job, son.” Obadiah touched Daryl’s shoulder; he shifted, and the man’s hand dropped. “I don’t want you to feel stifled. That’s not why Deliverance was created. It was created to help people thrive. But you’ve only just gotten here, and we allow the best of the best, those who prove themselves, the ability to venture beyond the walls. We just don’t want anyone to get hurt. We can’t afford any loses. You understand?”

Daryl did—he truly did. But he still didn’t like it. 

“Yeah, I understand.”

“Good.” Obadiah clapped Daryl’s shoulder, but this time held tight. “Go on then and learn from Marcus. He’s a good teacher. Then you can go home to your pretty wife.” He paused. “It’s a good life here, Daryl. You’ll see.”

Daryl grunted. Maybe it was; maybe it wasn’t. He wasn’t sure he was all too eager to find out.


End file.
